


Back Then

by kyaasnow



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Chris will be okay, Christophe Giacometti's Sexual Awakening, Coming of Age, Endgame Victuuri don't worry, Friendship, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasms!!! on Ice, Pre-Canon, Time Skips, Unrequited Crush, will eventually meet canon timeline so obviously things will be good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyaasnow/pseuds/kyaasnow
Summary: Christophe is 15 when he gets a crush on Viktor Nikiforov.He is 19 when he realizes Viktor just needs a friend.He is 25 when he realizes Viktor is in love.





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> This got longer than I had planned, so I will be posting it in two parts. My current obsession is pre-series Viktor, and somehow that translated into a fic about young Chris having a crush. And then an exploration of their friendship. If you want to feel angsty, I suggest listening to/reading the lyrics of [Will Last Forever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lIsya8oKYY) by 악뮤. If you don't want to feel angsty, then, uh, just read the story lol. I promise it's not as angsty as it might seem, mostly because I can't get myself to write anything serious lately aha.
> 
> Second (and final) part will be posted sometime in August. Yes, it will include Viktuuri.
> 
> The only one who edited this was me, so feel free to point out any errors. I also know this is definitely not my best writing -- writer's block, yay. I'm kyaasnow on Tumblr and kyaa_snow on Twitter.

It begins with a rose. 

Christophe hadn't expected much.  Maybe a distracted wave and a smile.  Or a hasty "thank you" at the most.  After all, Viktor Nikiforov is already something of a celebrity and he's only 18.  He probably gets eager skaters congratulating him all the time.  Not that Viktor seems rude or anything – Chris has seen him in passing several times and he's kind to everyone – but it can't be easy to single everyone out when they all seem the same. 

But Chris takes a deep breath to calm his nervous heart, leans forward and shouts a congratulations to the European Championships Gold Medalist. 

Viktor slows to a stop just at the edge of the rink.  Silver ponytail swinging, stray hairs falling into his eyes, flower crown snug on his head.  He looks like a fairy prince, and it makes Chris clasp his hands together tighter. 

"What is your name?" Viktor Nikiforov asks in the lightest, sweetest voice Chris has ever heard in his small existence. 

"Christophe Giacometti," he responds, breathless and rushed. 

Viktor Nikiforov, Europeans Gold Medalist, tosses Chris one of his roses.  He says, "See you at Worlds," with a smile, as if he'll actually be looking out for Chris there or something. 

And there, sitting next to his coach and clutching a rose, Christophe Giacometti gets a crush on Viktor Nikiforov. 

He agonizes over the rose overnight and the whole way back home to Switzerland.  His mother is confused when he rushes into the house and, before even greeting, asks her for a flower vase.  She's laughing and moving too slowly, so he just grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water. 

"I got this rose from Viktor," he explains.  He unwraps the rose before sitting it in the water.  It's almost as if he hears the flower give a sigh of relief.  "It hasn't had water since last night." 

"Viktor?" his mother asks, propping herself against the counter.  "Who's Viktor?" 

"Viktor Nikiforov, Maman!  He just won gold?  The one who won Junior Worlds my first year competing?" 

His mother taps her chin.  "Ah, I remember.  The Russian with the hair?" 

"Yes!"  He is about to mention a moment just before warm-up a couple days ago when Viktor turned quickly to face someone and his ponytail just brushed Chris' face and it was so soft and smelled amazing and – but he stops himself.  Because his mother loves to gush and go overboard when her son has a crush, and Chris wants to keep this one close to his heart for a little while. 

"Well, how sweet of him," she says.  "Let me get you a real vase.  We need to take good care of that gold-medal rose." 

Chris wants to keep the flower in his room, but his mother insists on situating it on an end table in the living room where it can get the precise amount of sunshine.  So he ends up spending more time in the living room than usual.  Staring at that rose, daydreaming of the next time he'll meet Viktor.  Of one day being on the podium with him.  Of one day beating Viktor.  And maybe, then, Viktor will have a crush on him, too. 

The rose lives longer than any other flower they've kept before. 

*** 

Chris arrives at the official hotel in Calgary the same time Viktor does.  He knows this before he even sees the guy, because there is a small group of fans clustered outside the main entrance.  Josef grumbles about this ("Maybe we should go through the door on the other side") but Chris stands on his tiptoes until he spots the top of Viktor's head.  His hair is down today. 

"Come on," Josef says, a gentle hand on Chris' shoulder.  "We can squeeze past." 

Chris follows, tugging at the ends of his hair in a nervous habit that he  _seri_ _ously_  needs to quit if he wants to stop being seen as a kid.  They manage to maneuver their way around the group of fans without much issue.  For a moment Chris almost regrets this, because, as it turns out, he really is that desperate for Viktor's attention.  But his suitcase gets caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and as he turns to nudge it out, he steals a quick glance at the Ice Prince. 

Viktor is still facing his fans, but his gaze has drifted over toward Chris.  Their eyes meet for a brief second.  In that brief second, two things happen: 1) Viktor lifts his hand in what might be a wave, and 2) saliva gets caught in Chris' throat as he attempts to inhale, and he is thrown into a coughing fit. 

He ducks his head and hurries into the hotel behind Josef, still hacking away. 

"What's wrong?" Josef asks.  "You're not getting sick, are you?  I told you you need to be more diligent about drinking water." 

"I'm fine," Chris gasps.  His face is burning now, and he's not sure if it's from embarrassment or the coughing. 

Once in the hotel room, he tosses himself across the bed and wishes he could talk about this with someone without sounding like a complete freak.  His heart is still racing, and he  _knows_ that's ridiculous, but at the same time, he wants to bask in this.  In the flushed face and unexplainable giggles and the fluttering in the pit of his stomach.  He's always liked the feeling of having a crush just as much as he's liked the actual crush.  This one is even nicer.  Because it's his. 

Just his. 

He doesn't run into Viktor again until practice the next day.  He's just off the ice, chugging down water at Josef's insistence, when his vision is suddenly filled with the face he's thought about way too often these days. 

"Hi," Viktor says, "Christophe." 

There's a feeling you get in your stomach during a jump on the ice, the split second before you land, where you're both completely aware of gravity and utterly weightless.  A whoosh of adrenaline. 

Chris feels this now, at realizing Viktor has remembered his name. 

"Hi," Chris says dumbly. 

"Your triple axel looks great."  It takes a moment for Chris to realize Viktor is speaking French.  It's accented and a little clumsy, but still. 

"Thank you." 

"Almost as good as mine."  Viktor says this lightly with a grin, and Chris is unsure if it's supposed to be an insult. 

"Almost?" 

Viktor shrugs and brushes stray silver strands out of his eyes.  "I think we may be rivals soon." 

He winks, and Chris is still beaming even after Viktor has walked away. 

*** 

Viktor comes in third at Worlds.  Chris thinks he deserved gold, but at the same time, it's a nice reminder that Viktor is still human. 

Chris comes in fifth, which both he and Josef are satisfied with.  "It's only your senior debut," Josef says.  "It's good to start slow.  That way you can finish stronger."  It's a little bit unfair, Chris thinks.  Viktor has never missed the podium at Worlds ever since he entered the senior competition.  But at the same time, he's pleased.  Viktor thinks he could be a rival one day.  That's enough to fuel Chris through the next season, at least. 

*** 

If his mother notices that Chris brings up Viktor Nikiforov more frequently now, she doesn't mention it.  And he is glad at that. 

He pushes himself hard once his break is over, and then even harder when the Grand Prix assignments come out and he realizes he's been assigned to the Cup of Russia along with Viktor Nikiforov. 

"You don't seem nervous to be going up against him," Josef says during practice one day. 

"I'm not," Chris says.  Truthfully, he is, but it's for reasons entirely unrelated to what Josef is thinking. 

"Good."  And then he has Chris run through his free skate for the third time in a row. 

Chris trains hard enough that most days when he gets home, he has little energy to do more than homework and crawl into bed.  But one evening he comes home to the October issue of one of his sports magazines.  There is a special about the upcoming figure skating season, as usual, but Chris is not prepared for the two-page spread about Viktor Nikiforov. 

He's seen pictures of him before, and read or seen interviews.  But somehow it's different now.  Maybe it's the fact that he's actually spoken to Viktor before.  That Viktor knows his name and thinks they could be rivals.  That Chris has an actual crush on him.  He feels closer now, rather than some vague, untouchable athlete. 

Chris finishes his homework, kisses his mother good night, and then curls up in his twin bed to read the magazine interview by lamplight. 

Viktor was born in Kazan, Russia and started skating when he was three (Chris did not know this).  He has been training under his same coach, Yakov Feltsman, since his novice years (Chris did know this, and it's something he and Viktor have in common).  His favorite jump is a triple axel (this must have been why he complimented Chris on it).  Outside of skating, his hobbies include going to the opera and reading (is this guy really only two years older than Chris?).  If he wasn't a skater, Viktor says he would be a skating coach (Chris laughs at this). 

There are three photos of Viktor accompanying the article.  One of him with his coach after Worlds, kissing his silver medal.  One of him at what appears to be practice at his home rink.  And one of him in the middle of a spin during his Junior Worlds gold medal-winning program. 

Chris has no idea how long he's stared at the photos before he realizes he's hard. 

It's a little embarrassing even though he knows, intellectually, that he's sixteen and he could get aroused if his pants brushed him the right way as he got dressed.  But there's something a little bit dirty about sitting in his bed with an erection over a magazine article about someone he knows. 

He tosses the magazine on the floor.  Shuts off his light and turns over in bed. 

But the problem with willing away an erection is that it makes one even  _more_ aware of said erection.  Chris closes his eyes and tries to think of anything except Viktor's face, Viktor's blue blue eyes, Viktor's long silver hair that he's sure would feel silky between his -- 

He tries to picture the images from his history textbook he just read a couple hours ago.  Runs through his short program in his head.  Wonders if the alterations to his free skate costume will be done in time for Skate Canada. 

Ice skating thoughts inevitably lead back to Viktor Nikiforov thoughts, and soon Chris is even harder than before. 

 _Okay_ , he tells himself.  It's okay to just jerk off like normal.  Like always, not picturing anyone in particular.  Imagining a faceless man in between his legs, stroking slow fingers up the insides of his thighs, curling them gently around his balls.  Whispering in his ear.   _Chris, your triple axel looks great._  

Screw it all. 

Chris snatches up the magazine.  It's still open to Viktor's spread.  Chris's eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and staring at that pale, pretty face feels more intimate this way.  Like a secret. 

He jerks himself faster.  Faster.  Fingers his slit.  Squeezes a little bit tighter.  How would Viktor be in bed?  Probably gentle. 

Chris eases up. 

Maybe Viktor would be soft.  Probably kiss him.  Lick the corner of his jaw.  He'd lean over, and his hair would slide over Chris's bare chest, and he'd press closer, and he'd be warm, and he would -- 

Chris grabs a handful of tissues just in time. 

He pants into his pillow as he comes.  A quiet little whine escapes him that he hopes his mother doesn't hear across the hall.  His body quivers with it and he keeps his eyes shut, trying to prolong it for as long as he can. 

After he's cleaned up, he closes the magazine and throws it across the room.  It lands somewhere with a quiet thud. Quieter than the wild thud of his heart as he tries to go to sleep. 

*** 

Chris literally bumps into Viktor on his way to the rear elevator lobby.  They're in Moscow, and Chris is exhausted from travel and then from practice earlier.  His brain can't focus on anything but getting back to his room and sleeping the afternoon and evening away – until he bumps into Viktor and suddenly he's on full awake mode. 

" _Pardon_ ," Christophe says without thinking. 

Viktor does not respond.  He stares at Chris, blue eyes wide and sparkling, a smile making its way across his face.  His hair is in a ponytail like it was at practice, and loose wisps frame his face.  Chris' fingers tingle with the need to brush those hairs behind his ear.  Slide his fingers across Viktor's cheek, along the shell of his ear.  He knows Viktor's skin would be so soft.  What 18-year-old boy has skin that clear?  Pale and unblemished and glowing and if Chris could just touch -- 

"Let's go outside," Viktor says suddenly. 

"Uh.  Excuse me?" 

Viktor leans in – somewhat desperately, Chris thinks – and grabs his wrist.  Chris' entire body freezes.  His sleeves are long enough that Viktor isn't touching skin, but he might as well be.  Warmth seeps through the cotton of his warm-up jacket and seems to spread to all of his outer limbs. 

For a moment Chris cannot breathe. 

"It's too much, being in here," Viktor says. 

Chris chooses not to ask if it has anything to do with the Russian media that had seemed to teleport from the rink to the hotel and had been the reason Chris had chosen the rear elevators. 

"Uh, where do you want to go?" Chris asks.  He sounds too flustered, too excited, but he can't control it. 

"I don't know!" He says it like this is something to be excited about.  "I don't know Moscow very well." 

And then he's tugging Chris' arm and they're heading to the back doors. 

And Chris realizes,  _I am being kidnapped by Viktor Nikiforov_. 

They end up in a small café in a neighborhood Viktor claims is frequented by  _babushka._  Some people in the place seem to recognize Viktor, if the fleeting stares thrown their way are anything to go by.  But none of them say anything.  Chris sees a drop in Viktor's shoulders, a brightness to his smile.  A Viktor he hadn't realized he only ever sees on the ice. 

Chris sits a little straighter in his seat. 

"Wow!" Viktor exclaims once they receive their drinks.  "Your coffee is so light!" 

Viktor's clunky yet confident French is too adorable for Chris' little heart.  A ridiculous image pops into his head of bringing Viktor home to meet his mother.  She wouldn't be able to deal with it.   _Trop mignon!_  she would exclaim. 

"It's café au lait," Chris explains. 

"Café au lait," Viktor repeats, his accent 100 percent perfect.  "Very French." 

"Yes."  Chris pauses and glances at Viktor's mug. "Do you take yours black?" 

The silver ponytail swings as Viktor throws his head back to laugh.  It's such a full, unabashed laugh.  Some people give him odd stares, but of course he doesn't appear to care. 

Viktor is not annoying, Chris realizes.  He's entrancing. 

"I don't drink coffee," Viktor says once he's calmed down.  "It's too... what is your word for that?  It tastes like nothing." 

"Bitter," Chris supplies.   _Oh my God._   He's helping Viktor with French.  In what world could he have actually thought he'd be sitting in a Russian café teaching Viktor Nikiforov French words? 

Viktor repeats the word.   _Amer_.  The vowels are sweet coming from his mouth, the r soft.  Chris has got a huge crush. 

"It's a pretty language.  French," Viktor says after taking a thoughtful sip of his... whatever it is. 

"I think so, too."  Chris' cheeks heat up.  "I like it much better than German.  I use German all day at school." 

One corner of Viktor's mouth quirks up.  He folds his arms on the table and dips his head. 

"Do you know why I'm learning French?" Viktor asks quietly. 

The blush spreads from Chris' cheeks to his ears and to his neck.  Another warm feeling picks up closer to his lap.  It's so embarrassing with Viktor right in front of him.  But,  _putain_ , he's just a teenager and Viktor purring at him in French is absolutely everything he'll need for later tonight when he's alone in his bed. 

"Why?" Chris croaks. 

He doesn't completely understand what's happening until Viktor's cold finger is sliding its way down Chris' cheek.  The problem in his lap grows. 

"Because it's good for flirting," Viktor says.  And then he pulls away, giggling.  "Hurry up and drink!  Let's explore some more." 

Chris drinks just slowly enough that by the time they leave, he can stand without embarrassing himself. 

*** 

For someone who claims not to know Moscow very well, Viktor sure seems to know just the right places to go where he won't really be recognized.  They catch the train in shady neighborhoods, walk down tiny side streets, pass by punks who look like they could jump Viktor and Chris at any moment.  Viktor seems unconcerned about all of this, dragging Chris from place to place as if Chris has nothing else he wants to do besides follow him everywhere. 

Which is sort of true. 

The sun has long set when Chris starts to get concerned.  His phone died a couple hours ago and he has no idea what time it is.  Josef usually checks in with him before bedtime, and he'll probably start to freak out when he realizes he's lost his skater in Moscow. 

"Viktor," Chris says quietly as they pass by a dark storefront.  "Maybe we should get back to the hotel now.  We skate tomorrow." 

Viktor gives him a funny little look.  His eyes glitter under the dim glow of the street lamps.  With his shining blue eyes and silver hair and pink lips and rosy cheeks... he looks like someone out of a storybook.  Like he could simply bat his eyelashes and people would fall under his spell.  Do whatever he liked.  Viktor is simply looking at him, and Chris has no control over his body anymore. 

"We haven't even gone dancing yet," Viktor says. 

Chris shakes his head.  "I'm too young to get into clubs." 

He actually has no idea if this is true or not, but if he doesn't hit the brakes now, he'd follow Viktor off a cliff.  And enjoy it. 

"Okay, Christophe."  Viktor slides his fingers through Chris' blond curls.  "Little Swiss boys need their sleep." 

Chris' cheeks burn.  "I'm not a little boy."  It comes out whiny.  Sounding very much like the little boy he claims not to be. 

Viktor folds his arms and smiles.  One sweeping glance up and down Chris' frame.  "Of course not."  He studies Chris a moment longer.  "At the Final, then." 

"W-what?" 

Viktor shrugs.  "Make it to the Grand Prix Final.  It's in St. Petersburg, and I can really show you around." 

This is a challenge.  Because Chris has already made third at Skate Canada.  If he wants to have a chance of making it to the Final, he needs to at least get on the podium here. 

It's not a question about if Viktor will make it to the final, even though he still has the NHK Trophy to go after this. 

"What do you say, Chris?"  Viktor holds out one long, elegant hand.  "Hang out with me again in St. Petersburg?" 

It's a challenge from Viktor Nikiforov.  A small part of Chris wants to flee.  Thinks he's not worthy, and he won't make it anyway, and...  But a bigger part of him glows with pride.  Because Viktor thinks he's worth challenging. 

"You'll buy me green borscht," Chris says, taking Viktor's hand.  It's cold. 

A small smile.  "Deal." 

*** 

Chris ends up in third after the short program.  Viktor is in first. 

"I thought you were going to take it easy today," Josef says on their way back to the hotel afterwards.  "We said you were going to drop the triple axel." 

"I decided to put it back in," Chris replies, and even he is shocked at how insolent that sounds.  "Sorry.  I just really want to make it to the Final." 

Josef sighs.  A heavy hand landing on Chris's shoulder.  "I know you do.  Just take it easy tonight and tomorrow at practice, okay?" 

"Okay." 

Chris does not run into Viktor again back at the hotel.  But he lies in bed, basking in the dull pain in his feet and his legs. And he smiles into his pillow. 

*** 

"Make sure to bring something fashionable to St. Petersburg," Viktor says during the medal ceremony. 

Chris blinks up at him from his second-place spot on the podium.  Viktor is still staring straight ahead at the cameras, smile fixed on his face as if he hasn't spoken. 

"What?" Chris stammers. 

Viktor spares him a quick glance and gives a miniscule nod of his head toward the cameras.  Face flushing, Chris turns back as well.  Smiling so much for pictures makes his cheeks quiver after a while, and he's sure he turns out looking like he's constipated.  An occupational hazard, he supposes.  But he's sure Viktor's so used to smiling – making the podium every time. 

"We're going out together, aren't we?  Didn't you promise me, Chris?" Viktor continues. 

Chris blinks just as a flash goes off.  "Yes." 

"So be sure pack something nice."  The three of them are called to step down from the podium and stand together in front.  Viktor nudges Chris as they situate themselves.  "Your ski jackets are cute, but not for going out." 

Is that an insult wrapped up in a compliment, or the other way around?  His cheeks heat up either from joy or embarrassment. 

"Okay." 

They smile for more pictures. 

"You don't sound very excited about it, Christophe.  Has my company already bored you?" 

Something about the way Viktor says this catches Chris.  He turns to glance at the gold medalist, even as flashes continue to go off.  Viktor's smile is still in place, but it's frayed around the edges. 

"Not at all," Chris says.  "I'm looking forward to it." 

Viktor gives his elbow a squeeze, and then the three of them are free to make a lap around the rink, waving to the cheering fans and holding up their medals.  Chris' smile comes a little bit easier.  This is something he thinks he'll never get tired of.  People cheering for him.  Waving at him, grinning, shouting his name or waving a Swiss flag.  There's something inexplicably exhilarating about this sort of worshipful attention. 

Chris steps off the rink not too long after.  He holds onto the barrier as he puts his blade guards on, and watches as Viktor lingers out on the ice.  The crowd's cacophony increases in volume as Viktor holds up one hand.  Not even waving, just sort of sitting there, fingers pointed toward the sky.  It's a moment before Chris realizes they're all shouting, "Vitya!" 

Finally, after a fruitless moment of yelling from Viktor's coach, he skates off the ice. 

Viktor's eyes are glistening in a way that makes Chris's breath catch.  This, he decides is the most enchanting thing about Viktor Nikiforov.  Above all – Viktor loves the ice. 

*** 

Christophe can't manage to find a way to watch the NHK Trophy, so he waits anxiously.  Checks the stats after the SP.  Goes to class the next day, doodles compulsory figures in his math notebook, bruises his hands during practice.  He checks again after the long program, just as he's finishing up dinner with his mother. 

"Christophe!" she calls from the dining room.  "There are dishes to be done!" 

"Just a moment, Maman!" 

It's longer than a moment.  Because Chris sees that Viktor won silver, and is now listed as one of the six finalists. 

"I can hear you typing," Maman says from the kitchen.  "I thought we agreed no skating forums until homework and chores are done." 

Heaving a sigh, Chris closes out of the Let's Talk Skate forum (where he is registered as sk8rboi90 and no one knows who he is) and goes to help his mother with the dishes. 

"Maman," he says.  "I'm skating against Viktor Nikiforov at the Grand Prix Final." 

"I thought you already skated against him in Moscow." 

"Yes but that was just the Cup of Russia.  This is the Grand Prix  _Final_." 

"No matter what the event is, you still skate on the same ice." 

"Yeah, but."  Chris stops and frowns down at the dishes. 

They wash together in silence.  He's too busy thinking about Viktor.  Thinking about the way he lingered on the ice in Moscow.  How he made Chris make that promise.  Wondering if Viktor even remembers it, and maybe --  Anyway, Chris is too busy picturing long silver hair and blue blue eyes that he almost misses it when his mother speaks. 

"You could have told me you have a crush," she says. 

His face heats up. 

"It's not like that," he croaks. 

And for once, it's true.  It is a crush, but nothing like the crushes he's had before.  It's not like making eyes at his rinkmate Philippe during warm-ups, flaunting himself a little more when Philippe glances his way, sloppy kissing in secluded corners of the locker room after everyone else has left.  It's not so superficial as that. 

Viktor is attractive, yes.  He's starred in more of Chris's nighttime fantasies since that first time with the magazine.  But after Moscow, it's something different.  Something more to do with Viktor's very soul. 

Chris's cheeks go even warmer. 

"I admire him," he murmurs.  "He's my idol, and he wants to compete against me." 

His mother makes a humming sound, one that he is never sure is condescending or not. 

So he finishes up the dishes in silence, and then goes to sleep with his mind whirling.


	2. Then & Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM LATE! Sorry! I suffered a bit of writers' block and then had to use my limited amount of motivation to finish my shitbang fic (if you like fluffy otayuri, feel free to check it out) and so this is being published much later than I meant for it to be. I apologize to anyone who was waiting for this (yeah I see y'all who subscribed lol).
> 
> *Note: The fic description has been updated because as I kept writing, I realized the original timeline didn't work.
> 
> This is unbetaed, so please forgive any mistakes! Let me know if there is anything wildly messed up.
> 
> Thanks & other notes at the end!

THEN 

Viktor wins silver in St. Petersburg.  Chris comes in fifth after singling a triple and what Josef calls "a distracted mind."  But he hardly focuses on that later. 

What he remembers is Viktor. 

Viktor's long silver hair.  Viktor's sparkling blue eyes as he greeted Chris outside the official hotel.  Viktor's smile when he introduced his dog, Makkachin.  Viktor walking along the Neva even in the sharp chill of December.  Viktor's apartment building – old and charming.  Warm inside the lobby where Chris waited for Viktor to drop off his dog.  ("You can come up," Viktor said.  "It's messy but there's room to sit."  And Chris declined, because how could he be inside Viktor Nikiforov's apartment and then continue as if his life was the same?) 

Viktor talking excitedly as they took the train to dinner.  Viktor laughing as he tried to teach Chris the words for the food they were eating.  Viktor's lips, pink despite the cold, shaping themselves around the unfamiliar syllables.  Viktor winking at the waitress who asked for an autograph for her younger brother.  Viktor footing the bill for the meal.  ("I budgeted this week, don't worry," he says, which makes Chris feel like an absolute child because he's never had to make his own budget ever in his life.) 

Viktor linking their arms together as they wandered to a nearby club.  Viktor somehow managing to get both of them inside despite the line of shivering, smiling people.  Viktor unwrapping Chris's scarf and tossing both their coats at the coatcheck.  Viktor, ethereal in the dim light of the club.  Closing his eyes and singing with the music.  Lifting his hands above his head only to rest them on Chris's shoulders.  Dancing closer.  Singing in Chris's ear.  Dragging his hand down Chris's front.  Squealing in delight.  ("Chris, you're such a good dancer!") 

Viktor buying water.  ("No good to drink before a competition!")  Viktor asking if he's had vodka before.  Viktor standing far, far too close. 

Viktor accompanying him on the train back to the hotel.  Leaving a kiss on Chris's cheek and wishing him luck before they parted. 

This is what Chris remembers from St. Petersburg.  From his first Grand Prix Final. 

** 

"That's my boy," his mother says when he returns home.  "Keep your head up.  One day soon you'll be back on the podium." 

He does not tell his mother why he's really smiling. 

** 

Viktor and Chris meet again at Europeans.  And again at Worlds.  At the banquet in Tokyo, Viktor affixes Chris to his side, and at the end of the night, Viktor leans in so far that for a split second, Chris thinks he might kiss him.  But instead Viktor whispers, "These are always a drag."  And it makes Chris giggle.  Because who would guess it?  Viktor Nikiforov is antisocial. 

Just before the next Grand Prix series, Chris is struck with a growth spurt.  He doesn't make it to the final, but he gets a message on Facebook from someone named "Mikhail Medvedev." 

 _Growth spurts are terrible.  Better luck next year!_  

Chris prepares to respond politely yet vaguely to this fan he has never heard of before, when another message comes in. 

_This is Viktor, by the way.  I don't have a real Facebook account. :)_

By Worlds, Viktor is 20 and Chris is 18 and past his growth spurt and they get drunk in a bar after escaping the banquet and Viktor kisses him. 

It is quick.  Barely a brush of lips.  Viktor's are smooth.  Chris is sure his are chapped. 

They do not speak of it again. 

The two of them make it to the next Grand Prix Final.  And at last,  _at last_ , Chris is on the podium.  Silver.  Viktor congratulates him with an air kiss. 

Chris gets bronze at Europeans.  Viktor wins gold. 

Chris just misses the podium at Worlds, but Viktor gets silver.  At this point, they have each other's phone numbers.  One text and then Chris is at the door of Viktor's hotel room. 

"What's this about your exhibition skate?" Viktor asks as Chris enters the room, hands tucked into his pockets.  "I haven't seen anything wrong with it all season." 

"It's..."  Chris scrunches up his face.  "It's supposed to be sexy." 

"Well, yes.  We all know that.  And?" 

Chris sighs and stares at the carpet.  "I'm not... sexy." 

Silence on the other side of the room.  He glances up to see Viktor blinking at him. 

"What?" Chris says. 

"Are you being serious?" Viktor asks.  "I still have a difficult time with sarcasm in French." 

"Um.  Yes, I'm being serious." 

Viktor stares at him for another moment.  Chris takes the opportunity to appreciate the way Viktor looks, draped across the foot of his bed, hair held in a loose bun with a pink scrunchie, oversized shirt inching its way off his shoulder. 

"Chris."  Viktor sits up and clasps his hands in his lap.  "I don't think you need to worry about that." 

Chris squints through his glasses. 

"What do you mean?" he asks. "The routine is just... dull if I can't fit the theme." 

Viktor sighs and adjust his ponytail before approaching Chris. "You are sexy enough, Chris." 

Rolling his eyes, Chris points to his glasses. "Yes, very sexy in my glasses and my hair that makes me look like I'm twelve." 

With an indulgent grin, Viktor runs his fingers through Chris's hair. He'd have thought he'd be used to being touched like this by Viktor -- they've been friends long enough now -- but it still sends a short thrill through him. 

"It's cute," Viktor says. "But you can still be sexy. I thought you knew this." 

"Uh, no?" 

One finger traces the curve of Chris's jaw. He holds back a shiver. 

"You are going for the wrong sexy, Chris." Still standing too close, Viktor releases his hair from the ponytail. It cascades over his shoulders. One shoulder still bared by the oversized shirt. "It's not about being the one lusting." 

 _How did you learn that word?_  is on the tip of Chris's tongue, but Viktor is wandering over to the ice bucket on the desk and Chris's attention is snagged by his long legs. The soft curves of his thighs. The slightest shift of his hips beneath the cotton of the shirt. As he reaches the desk, Viktor looks back over his shoulder with wide eyes. The innocence of his expression does not match Chris's thoughts at the previous display. 

"You want to make people want you," VIktor says. He winks. "My best advice, Chris, is to tell yourself you are the most desirable person on the ice. And at the moment, it is actually true." 

Viktor throws his head back in a laugh, and just like that, Chris is released from whatever spell had been cast on him. 

Later, on his way back to his room, he puzzles out the entire confrontation. Did Viktor just tell him that he's sexy? Was Viktor... purposely trying to seduce him? Was it just for show? Or did he actually want Chris to desire him? 

Chris tries to go to bed. Tosses and turns for an hour. Jerks off to thoughts of Viktor's smile and Viktor's fingers and Viktor's legs. It still doesn't relax him enough to sleep. So he slips out of bed and turns on his lamp next to the full-body mirror near the door of his room. 

He tries out the innocent expression Viktor pulled on him earlier tonight. It feels unnatural on Chris's face, but he figures perhaps this is how it feels at first. No one is  _born_ being sexy, he tells himself. Probably not even Viktor (he does not convince himself of this). 

He tries on of Viktor's smirks. Takes of his sleep pants and tries to see if his legs look as long and slender as Viktor's do. None of it quite fits. But he enjoys it the more he does it, and he can't sleep anyway. So he keeps trying. 

The next day, Viktor gives him a weird look during gala practice. 

"What?" Chris asks, his voice coming out a bit sharper than he intended. 

Viktor shrugs. "Were you working on this last night?" 

"Yes. Why." 

"You look a little bit like you're in pain." 

This is all Viktor gives him before skating away. 

By the time they're almost ready to perform, Chris is panicking. Which is dumb. It's just the exhibition. He won't be scored on interpretation. He's not even a medalist, so people won't care about his performance anyhow. But still. He's 19. He should be able to present himself as an adult now. That was his goal in choosing this exhibition anyway, but it's the end of the season and he still can't pull it off. 

 _Imbecile_ , he thinks to himself. 

And then he's skating onto the ice and he's in his opening pose and the first notes of "Je t’aime moi non plus" straining over the speakers. 

 _I am the most desirable person on the ice_ , he tells himself.  _In the whole arena._  

He smirks as he peels out of his previous pose and swivels his hips. 

 _All of you want to fuck me_. He drags his hands up from his hips to his shoulder blades.  _And I want to fuck all of you_. 

He has no idea what kinds of faces he's making -- if they're like what Viktor showed him or not. He's not sure if his legs look long enough, if his butt is round enough, if the way he parts his lips look more Brigitte Bardot than Panting Middle-Aged Man. But the adrenaline keeps him going. He thinks of Viktor. No... just anyone. A sexy stranger. He remembers what it's like when he masturbates. Hand around his own erection. Pinching at his own nipples. Biting his lip to keep quiet because someone is just on the other side of the wall and... 

The end of the song is coming. Josef almost didn't let Chris use the whole song through.  _Don't you think an orgasm is a bit... much?_ he said.  _No_ , said Chris, and because he's always been nothing but agreeable and a good student, he won the disagreement. 

The woman in the song reaches climax. And Chris almost does, too -- just before he remembers he actually is on the ice and thousands of people have their eyes on him. 

The roar of applause is a close second, though. 

** 

Chris laughs as he follows Viktor into the elevator. 

"You did so well tonight," Viktor whispers, crowding Chris against the wall. 

"Thanks." Chris cannot breathe. 

"You took my advice." 

"Yes." 

Viktor's lips on his neck. His fingers in his hair. 

"Come to my room, Chris," Viktor says, as if that was not already the plan before the banquet. 

But this means something different. 

They stumble into Viktor's room. And then it's hands and lips and sighs and falling -- falling onto the bed and Chris is on top of Viktor and he feels powerful. So powerful. Like he's  _wanted_. Like he's a sexual being worthy of desire. Like he could do anything. 

And  _Viktor_ _Nikiforov_ wants him. 

"Oh my God," Chris pants against Viktor's neck. "This is even better than sharing the podium with you." 

Something changes, but Chris is too distracted with rubbing against Viktor's thigh to notice. 

"Chris," comes a quiet voice. "Chris, stop." 

 _Stop_ is a word Chris knows. 

He stops and pulls back until he can see the face beneath him. Viktor doesn't appear to look upset or scared or anything. He's peering at Chris, face peculiarly expressionless. 

"What is it?" Chris whispers. He's had sex enough times to know that checking in is important. Usually it's others checking in on him (he has a thing for older guys) but he can at least do this. "Are you okay, Viktor?" 

Viktor blinks up at him, his eyes shining blue even in the dim light. And then he laughs. 

A flat laugh. Distinctly not humorous. 

"What's going on?" Chris presses. 

Viktor sighs and gazes up at him. 

"You don't want to fuck me," Viktor says. "You want to fuck  _Viktor_ _Nikiforov_." 

 _What?_  Chris sits up and rests on his legs. 

"You...  _are_ Viktor Nikiforov," he says slowly. 

Viktor shakes his head. He turns to the side and sighs. The light from the window makes his face glow. He looks like a fairy out of Chris's mother's old Swiss fairy tale books. 

"Everybody wants Viktor Nikiforov," Viktor says. "I'm just Viktor." 

"I'm not sure I understand." 

Viktor tosses an arm over his eyes. "I don't want to be Viktor Nikiforov all the time. I feel like... it makes me forget who I actually am." 

Chris is watching a breakdown in real time. He feels helpless. Sitting on the bed in his briefs, still hard. 

"Okay," he croaks. 

"I... I don't remember how to be Viktor anymore." 

"It's okay." Chris places a tentative hand on Viktor's bare arm. "I'm sorry. We don't have to do that." 

Viktor seems to relax into Chris' touch. The tension in his body releases slightly. 

"It's not..." Viktor trails off. "Chris, it's not you. You were amazing tonight." 

"Thank you." 

Viktor's eyes are still covered, but his breaths are deepening now. Still hesitant, Chris climbs to Viktor's other side and slides down next to him, so they're spooning. They are about the same height now that Chris has had a growth spurt, but Viktor feels smooth and soft where Chris is more cut. 

"You can be just Viktor with me," he whispers into Viktor's ear. He does not respond, but Chris just needed to say it for himself. 

 

 

**

 

  
 

NOW

Chris finds out through his mother. That's what really pisses him off more than anything. He's on his way home from the rink, chatting to his mother on the phone as usual. Phone against his ear in one hand, bag of groceries in the other, backpack with skating gear weighing on his shoulders. 

"By the way," his mother says after she's finished describing the dinner party she's hosting with the neighbors this weekend. "I saw that your friend went to Japan. The silver boy. I hope you're not planning on joining him there." 

His mother gives a little giggle. Chris almost drops his groceries. 

"What?" he squeaks out. 

"Your silver friend. The Russian one? He's in Japan, right?" 

"Hold on a moment, Maman." 

Chris stops by an empty outdoor cafe table and rests his groceries on it while he Googles Viktor's name. And sure enough. Viktor Nikiforov has suddenly gone to Japan with plans to coach Yuuri Katsuki. And it was on Instagram. Chris certainly should have checked Instagram after teaching his summer camp kids. 

Chris remembers Yuuri. Cute boy, cute butt, fairly quiet and totally awkward about being flirted with. Pole dances, apparently, when he's drunk. Last year's GPF banquet was quite the night. 

But Viktor. 

He picks up his conversation with his mother again, pretending like he knew these plans all along. Yeah, Viktor hadn't been satisfied lately with skating (Chris had suspected this, so it's not a complete lie). The Japanese kid had asked Viktor to coach him (also true, though Chris didn't remember it until now). Viktor will be back to skating in no time (Chris hopes). 

After he's made it home and put all his groceries away and got dinner going, he texts Viktor. 

 _What are you up to Viktor?_  

Chris has no idea what time it is in Japan, but Viktor responds only a minute later. 

 _My biggest surprise yet!_  

Chris is no stranger to Viktor's surprises. He's been privy to a few of them. Viktor cut his hair. Chris cut and dyed his. Viktor skated to opera. Chris skated to Swan Lake. 

This, however, is new. 

 _I know Yuuri. He's cute, 10/10 would bang. But he's not worth it._  

Viktor responds with:  _:)_  

The oven timer beeps to let him know it's time to drain the pasta. Chris's fingers fly across his phone. 

 _Don't get his hopes up like this. When you decide to come back next month he'll be crushed, and you'll be that much further behind in getting ready for the next season._  

Viktor does not respond anymore. 

** 

Viktor does not come back to skating the next month. Miraculously enough, he stays in Japan. Next thing Chris knows, he's meeting up with Coach Viktor and his Japanese skater at the Cup of China. 

He notices it almost immediately. 

 _They're fucking_ , he thinks. Or at they're least close to it. 

It's clear in the way Viktor looks at him. In the way Yuuri deflates when Chris tells him he's holding Viktor back. In the way Viktor is overcome when Yuuri finishes his Eros program ( _that_ side of Yuuri is a pleasant surprise, if Chris is completely honest with himself). 

It's unsettling. Since when does Viktor like anything more than the ice? Since when does he just...  _give_ so much of himself to another human? Since when does he cling so tightly to someone in plain view of thousands of people, follow that person around like a puppy who was just rescued from the side of the road? 

He tries not to think the word, but it comes to him as he lies in bed the night before the gala. Jealousy. He's  _jealous_. And he can't decide if he's jealous because Yuuri Katuski has something Chris was never able to draw out of Viktor, or because he, too, wishes he had something outside of the ice. Something else that made him want to wake up in the morning and keep going. 

He stares at the ceiling, feeling more like his 15-year-old, starry-eyed self than he's felt in years. Back when Viktor was untouchable. So out of reach. What he hadn't understood at age 16, or 18, or even just a few months ago, was that Viktor had always been out of reach. Physical closeness was nothing. Surface connections were nothing. The breakdown the night of the Worlds gala seven years ago was the closest Chris has ever gotten to seeing something real of Viktor. 

It hurts. And the only difference between then and now is that now, Chris lets himself hurt. 

He turns into his pillows and doesn't pretend that the wetness on the cotton is anything else but tears. 

** 

When he sees the rings, Chris is fine. He smiles. He claps. He is genuinely... happy for them. 

He goes back to the hotel, half-heartedly flirts with Phichit Chulanont, and then receives a phone call from Jasfer back home. 

"It's late," Christophe murmurs sleepily, tucking the phone between his face and the pillow. "I hope you have my angel in bed already." 

Jasfer's chuckle is low and throaty -- Chris has always found it attractive, ever since they first met three years ago at the rink. 

"Your cat is in bed asleep. I've just been up reading," Jasfer says. "Wanted to wish you luck for tomorrow." 

"Are you going to watch?" Chris asks. And he's... surprisingly not surprised that he actually means it. In not just a flirty way. He  _wants_ Jasfer to watch. Wants to know that someone who sincerely cares about him will have their eyes on him, cheering for him. 

"Of course." Jasfer's voice has gone soft. "I'll always watch." 

Chris's chest warms. 

"Read me that book," Chris says, snuggling down into the covers. "I need a bedtime story." 

The book is in German. Chris usually doesn't care for the language, but right now, with Jasfer speaking it softly into his ear, he falls right asleep. 

** 

Viktor and Chris run into each other after the medal ceremony. It feels weird to see Viktor without Yuuri at his side, but Chris sees his chance. 

"So you're finally coming back," he says. 

Viktor grins. "I have to defend my records, of course." 

Chris smiles back. "More competition now, huh? Not just you and me anymore." 

The corners of Viktor's mouth turn a little. Chris keeps going. 

"I think it's less lonely, this way," he says. 

It takes a moment, but then Viktor's face blooms into a brilliant smile. 

"I think so, too," Viktor says. 

And the two of them shake hands. 

And maybe this isn't the end of Viktor and Christophe. Maybe it was never just Viktor and Christophe. Instead, it was Christophe Giacometti, and skating, and the people that made it worthwhile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! I honestly thought zero people would read my little story about Chris and it means so much to me to see those kudos. I'm so grateful to all of you who read and subscribed (I honestly didn't realize people had subscribed until last week haha. Sorry if I kept any of you waiting). This was my first "multichapter" work since like... I don't even know when. I'm happy my first experience was with all of you guys (even though I haven't spoken to most of you aha).
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3Fa4lOQfbA) is the song that Chris skated to for his exhibition, by the way. Yes, it's totally not a good skating song. Yes, I chose it because it's in French and because it ends with an orgasm. Gotta do Chris justice.
> 
> If you'd like to talk about this fic/Chris/basically anything YOI-related, you can find me on tumblr and [twitter](https://twitter.com/kyaa_snow). Once again, thank you for reading!


End file.
